


Less The Horror Than The Grace

by Mourningbirds



Category: Metamorphoses - Ovid, Prospect (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Eventual violence, Ezra is immortal, Ezra still has his Prospect accent don't question it, F/M, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Magic, No rape in this fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mourningbirds/pseuds/Mourningbirds
Summary: In which Immortal!Ezra is a copper miner. He learns that his copper will be used by Hephaestus to forge the reflective shield that Perseus will use when killing Medusa. Ezra is incensed by this and resolves to help Medusa."Ezra knew about Medusa’s tragic life. How she’d been raped by Poseidon in Athena’s sacred temple. Athena had been so enraged by this desecration of her temple that she’d transformed Medusa into a Gorgon with hair of snakes and the power to turn humans to stone, if they looked directly into her eyes.How typical it was that the desecration of a building was considered a greater outrage than the desecration of a woman’s body and mind. And of course the woman was found to be at fault, and tormented, instead of her aggressor.And now Medusa was to be punished even further? With Ezra’s copper playing a role in this cruelty? No. He wouldn’t allow it."
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect) 2018/Medusa
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the nature of Ezra’s immortality - My Ezra is susceptible to death via injury but he will never die old age or illness. I’m sorry, I am just making this stuff up to please myself. But don't worry - he does not die in this fic!
> 
> I apologise to any readers who know actual facts about the following: Greek myth, Ovid, mining, geography, sailing and probably a lot of other stuff. All my research for this fic consisted of half-baked Google searches and skimming Wikipedia articles, then rejecting anything that didn’t fit my purpose. Nevertheless, I hope you have fun reading this and that the AU tag will excuse my bullshit.
> 
> The title is from Shelly's poem - On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery

Ezra was sitting on a bench outside his home as the familiar shape of Hephaestus, blacksmith of the gods, approached from the east. He was some way off yet, so Ezra continued his breakfast, biting into a peach so ripe that its juice ran down his hand and on to his wrist. He licked up the juice and sucked his fingers. Closing his eyes, he thought of the young widow who had sold him the fruit. Her sweet, soft mouth had opened so shyly for him when he’d kissed her. 

“My darling girl,” he’d breathed against her ear, “you taste more divine than the fruit you coax from the earth. Truly, your gentle, clever fingers could seduce me to grow too, if ever you wished it.” 

They’d only kissed so far, and she hadn’t taken him up on his offer of more. But he was happy to give her whatever she wanted. If it was merely kisses and sweet words, that was fine with Ezra. He enjoyed both of those things well enough.

He looked at Hephaestus, silhouetted against the rising sun. His crooked gait, the result of a lame foot, grew more visible as he came closer. Ezra was no stranger to gods and goddesses and he knew their ways. He’d been born before them all, though he was unsure of his exact moment of birth. 

He knew he had existed during the era that was now referred to as Chaos, but it was so long ago and he’d possessed no physical form at that point. He was merely a soul, drifting amid a rude mass of discordant atoms. He had only the faintest memories of this time. Elusive fragments that disappeared when he tried to grasp them, like a half remembered dream. 

But he did remember the shock when all the matter of the universe had been separated into the four Elements and he’d been blasted into his body. He would never forget the pain. It was his first experience of physical sensation. This moment was much sharper in his memory. 

He’d been caught in the crossfire of a star being born nearby. Tiny particles of dust from the star had made their way into his soft, newly formed skull, like shrapnel, giving him a tuft of pale hair. He explained it away as a birthmark. This was the truth, after all. 

He felt the cool shadow as his visitor stood before him. “Hephaestus. Please sit, I beg you. You’ve travelled far.”

“Hello, Ezra.” Hephaestus sat heavily onto the bench with a sigh of relief and Ezra gave him a stool to rest his foot on. 

“I have no ambrosia to offer, but would you like a peach? I assure you they are delicious.”

“No, thank you. I’ve an important commission to complete and I can’t delay. I’d be glad to take some of your wine for my return journey, though.”

“But of course. Hand me your flask and I will fill it!” 

Hephaestus rolled his eyes at Ezra’s enthusiasm and Ezra smiled at him as he filled the flask. He was well aware that Hephaestus was humouring him and had no real need for human sustenance. But he couldn’t help feeling happy at this opportunity to extend hospitality to a visitor. There’d been times in his life when he’d had to be ruthless and selfish to ensure his own survival. He knew those times would come again, but for now he’d found a peaceful and happy life in Greece. His claim on a nearby native copper deposit provided enough funds for him to live in modest comfort. And it was easy to purchase good things to eat and drink here, or to forage for them. When the copper seam was exhausted he would need to move on, but he knew better than to dwell on that for too long. 

“Athena has instructed me to forge a shield of bronze and a sword for Perseus. She insists that the bronze be so highly polished that anyone who looks upon the shield will see their own face in its reflection. I need copper of the finest quality to alloy the bronze for such an object, so naturally I come to you, Ezra.”

“I’m honoured,” said Ezra as he stood. “Wait here and rest while I select my purest copper for you.”

He went to his store to gather the copper then returned to Hephaestus and filled his bag, “Is this enough for your purpose?”

“Yes, that will do. Thank you, Ezra.” Hephaestus stood up and made to leave.

“What is the reason for such a pretty weapon? Surely more base materials would afford the user far greater protection?”

“Perseus intends to slay the Gorgon Medusa. He’ll avoid her lethal gaze during their battle by tracking her movements in the reflection of the shield. A clever plan!”

“Yes. Quite ingenious.” Ezra’s smile turned rigid as he waved goodbye to Hephaestus.

Ezra knew about Medusa’s tragic life. How she’d been raped by Poseidon in Athena’s sacred temple. Athena had been so enraged by this desecration of her temple that she’d transformed Medusa into a Gorgon with hair of snakes and the power to turn humans to stone, if they looked directly into her eyes.

How typical it was that the desecration of a building was considered a greater outrage than the desecration of a woman’s body and mind. And of course the woman was found to be at fault, and tormented, instead of her aggressor. 

And now Medusa was to be punished even further? With Ezra’s copper playing a role in this cruelty? No. He wouldn’t allow it. Ezra knew he was no match for a warrior like Perseus. He’d have to employ artfulness and cunning to foil Perseus’s plan. He would visit the sorceress Circe and ask for her help. 

He took his breakfast things inside and prepared for his journey. He filled his flask with wine and water and packed a few other provisions from his food store; bread, some salted fish and the rest of the widow’s peaches. He strapped his dagger to his belt and retrieved his purse from its hiding place under his sleeping mat. 

Standing in the doorway, Ezra took a moment to look around his little home and steel himself for what lay ahead. He knew how to do this. He must accept that he might not come home and be grateful for the long life he’d already had. But if he returned safely he’d visit the widow again. Maybe he could convince her to let him stay the night. It’d be nice to fall asleep with a warm and willing woman tucked against his chest and know he could kiss her during the night if he wanted to. 

With that fortifying image in his mind, he closed the door and set off for the harbour to find passage to Circe’s home on the isle of Aeaea. He wanted to catch the fishing boats before they departed for the day. Hephaestus was sure to work quickly. If Ezra delayed until tomorrow it might be too late.

.

When he reached the harbour it was still busy with fishermen preparing for their morning’s work. A little winded, and overcome with relief at the sight of so many docked boats, he leaned forward, braced his hands on his thighs, and let out a noise that was something between a heavy exhale and a laugh. 

Once he’d caught his breath he looked up and squinted, scanning the harbour for a reliable-looking vessel and the right sort of crew. Ezra was confident in his ability to negotiate, either by charm or by force, but he far preferred the former method. Genial travel companions would ease the way. He spotted a man directing his crew and observed him for a few minutes. Ezra was too far away to make out his words but he could hear the tone of his voice. His commands were confident but calm and there seemed to be an easy humour between him and his men. When he paused in his work to feed some bait fish to a little cat who was perched on a barrel near his boat, that sealed the deal for Ezra. He began walking along the harbour, keeping his demeanor unthreatening - an easy amble, a soft smile - until he reached the man and his cat.

Ezra gave the cat a gentle scritch behind its ears. It purred and pushed its cheek into his hand, then he addressed the man, “I see your crew is preparing for an imminent departure so I’ll speak candidly. I am bound for Aeaea, but I lack a means of transit. If you and these fellas could see your way to taking me there, I have coins to pay for my passage. And if such a trip is out of your way I’ll gladly compensate you for any loss of earnings you would endure as a result of the detour.” 

The man gave him a sceptical look, “Aeaea, you say? You do know that’s Circe’s island? If she doesn’t like the look of you she’ll not think twice before killing you - or worse. When Odysseus visited her, she transformed his crew into pigs. You must have heard?”

“I have indeed. But I am driven more by duty than good sense,” he let out a self-deprecating laugh here. Then, turning serious, “I’m afraid I have unwillingly contributed towards an injustice and I must make amends before it’s too late. I don’t possess the means to do this alone so I aim to appeal to Circe’s sympathy, as I appeal to yours now.”

The man fed some more fish to the cat, “What do you think, little Ailouros? Should we help this man?” The cat lifted up on its hind legs and rubbed its face against Ezra’s arm. He smiled and gave Ezra an appraising look, “Yes. I like him too. Alright. I won’t dock my boat on her island, though. I can take you within half a mile but you’ll have to swim the rest of the way.”

Ezra grinned and clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you, friend! Your terms are reasonable and I’m agreeable to them. I am Ezra. What is your name?”

“I’m Christos.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Christos. And you as well, Ailouros.” The cat chirruped at Ezra.

They agreed on a price, and when Christos and his crew had finished readying the boat they set off for Aeaea. 

Conditions were good. The water was calm and the early morning air was pleasantly cool. But Ezra was growing anxious about his mission and couldn’t enjoy the journey. Feeling that human interaction was the best form of distraction at a time like this, he tried to engage with the crew, asking about the vessel and their fishing methods. And they were polite enough, but their replies were all dead-ends. They wouldn’t give him the kind of repartee he craved, no matter how much he persisted.

“Forgive my men, Ezra. They’re wary of you,” said Christos. “They’ve never known anyone to put themselves in such danger.” He shook his head, “Even if Circe takes a liking to you-- well, let’s just say she’s been known to insist on carnal attention from her visitors. And she’s said to be very, ah-- demanding, with little patience for those who don’t please her. Do you catch my drift?” 

“I believe I do. But I’m happy to report that in this area I have ample confidence in my ability to give satisfaction. I’ve known my share of lovers and I’ve yet to find one too demanding for my talents or, indeed, my own appetite. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for your warning and I will heed it.”

Christos looked a little flustered after this speech so Ezra changed the subject and they passed the rest of the journey in enjoyable conversation, sharing Ezra’s food and drink until they drew near to Aeaea. 

“We can’t sail any closer, Ezra. Can you swim from this distance?”

“I can. Thank you, Christos. I hope I’ll see you again.”

“I hope so too.”

Ezra waved at the crew, and they watched, dumbfounded, as he dove into the water and swam to the shore of Aeaea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ezra meets the sorceress Circe:
> 
> _She brought her hand to his face, cupped his jaw, and traced the tip of her tongue along the seam of his mouth, “You taste of the ocean, Ezra.”_
> 
> _He looked at her lips, slightly parted now, and a whisper away from his own. A healthy instinct for self-preservation had always served Ezra well. But he’d learned there were moments in every man’s life when bravery is called for, and, recognising this to be one of them, he slid his tongue into her mouth and kissed her._

By the time he reached land he was exhausted. Ezra was a strong swimmer. He was blessed with broad shoulders, long arms and a powerful back, but it’d been ages since he’d needed to exert himself like this. His present lifestyle was undemanding and he had grown a little soft in his arms and belly. 

He rolled over on his back to rest and dry out in the sun. He knew he was making himself vulnerable to attack but there was nothing else for it. He had to hope that a prone man would serve as an unthreatening, or perhaps an inviting, sight to Circe. 

Ezra laid still, listening for comfort inside the constant, ancient noises of the sea. As a child of the universe, he had come to treat the sea, the sky, the stars and the very earth he walked on as his kin, and often turned to them for companionship. The warm air smelled of salt and ozone. A little crab scuttled past his ear. Gulls screamed from somewhere far away. After a time, Ezra’s eyes fluttered closed and he drifted into a deep sleep.

.

It was the smell which eventually roused him. There was something wrong about it - out of place. Like the scent of snow in a desert. He opened his eyes and saw an enormous male lion standing before him. Its musky, fecund odour brought with it a Proustian rush of memory, transporting Ezra back to his time in Abyssinia when he'd lived among the fledgling ancestors of everyone now alive. But this lion wasn’t like the ones he’d encountered there. It was docile and there seemed to be a look of affinity in his eyes, as though he viewed Ezra as one of his own species, rather than prey.

“Hello, Ezra.”

Ezra blinked, still fuzzy with sleep, “Well this is something I have never seen. A talking lion.” 

He heard a soft laugh coming from somewhere above and tilted his head back to see a woman staring down at him, her feet planted just behind his head. “No, Ezra. He can’t talk. Not anymore, anyway.”

She wore diaphanous robes, the colour of a storm-darkened sea. Her hair was wild, and tangled with fragments of leaves, flowers and seaweed, and she held a wooden staff, more than half her own height. From Ezra’s viewpoint she looked majestic and breathtaking; like a colossal, animated statue. The hem of her robes fluttered over his face and brushed against his lips. 

He wanted to get a read on her expression, look for signs of danger on her face, but he was hindered by the angle, and the sheer fabric now covering his eyes. He thought it safest to remain on the ground and avoid making any move that might cause alarm. 

“I am… somewhat compromised by my location but I take it you are Circe, mistress of this island. How do you know my name? I’m not a famous man.”

“I’ve dreamed of you. Follow me, now. I’ve been expecting you.” She turned and walked away, with the lion padding along at her heels. 

Ezra stood up, groaning at his aching muscles, and, brushing the sand off his body and out of his hair, he followed Circe along the shore. He was keen to converse with her but he forced himself to stay silent and walk a few respectful feet behind. As they walked they were joined by more creatures; a wolf and a fox, then an enormous brown bear lumbered on to the beach. Finally an owl landed on Circe’s shoulder and gently nibbled at her ear as she whispered to it.

Circe turned off the beach, taking them all along a path that led inland, and eventually the party arrived at what Ezra took to be her home. It was an imposing building, built from materials that surely couldn’t have been found on the island. It gave Ezra the same jarring feeling he’d had on meeting the lion. 

The animals remained outside the house and Circe led Ezra inside. She took a seat at a dining table that was laden with food, and Ezra paused for a moment to look around the room. In one corner there was a large golden bowl, wide and shallow, placed on top of a plinth. He could just make out the bowl’s contents; some dark and ominous liquid that seemed to writhe and churn of its own accord. Next to the plinth there was a wooden platform, on which lay cuttings of various flora and fauna. He recognised some of them from the fragments he’d seen suspended in Circe’s hair.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair next to hers. “Tell me why you’ve come here.”

Ezra sat, forcing down a powerful urge to enquire about the liquid in the golden bowl. He recounted Hephaestus’s visit and described Perseus’s mission. Circe listened without interrupting, her face inscrutable. Then he said, “I have no doubt you are familiar with Medusa’s history. Such actions as she has experienced deserve an appropriate reaction. To my mind, this means vengeance, not persecution. Now, I’ll not underestimate Perseus. He’s a mighty warrior and I cannot fight him on his own terms and emerge the victor. I seek some way to… hm, level the field. What is more, if I’m unable to stop Perseus before he reaches Medusa’s island, and I’m forced to do battle in her presence, I will require protection from her, also.”

“Medusa is a powerful woman, quite capable of defending herself. It’s she who requires a level field.” 

The wolf stalked into the house and settled at Circe’s feet while she fed him scraps from the table. Ezra jerked his chin at the wolf, “These critters seem to have a curiously human quality in their eyes,” he said, unable to hide a nervous note in his voice. “It’s eerie. Can I take it they’ve, ah, suffered a similar fate to Odysseus’s boys?”

“They aren’t suffering,” she shrugged, “men show me who they are and I simply reveal their true natures to the world.”

“What is my true nature?”

She leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand, “I haven’t decided yet.”

“And what of my quest? You gonna help?”

“I haven’t decided that, either.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled, and now Ezra began to feel he was on more familiar ground. 

“Well, then. Let me help you. Perhaps there’s something I can offer that will make your decision an easy one. Or at the very least, a pleasurable one.” 

She stood and moved toward him, all the while staring at him with an unmistakable expression of intent. He’d received similar looks many times before, though never from a woman as formidable as Circe. Nevertheless, he held her gaze without flinching. Her knees bumped into his and then she lifted the skirt of her robes and sat on his lap, her thighs splayed either side of his hips. 

She brought her hand to his face, cupped his jaw, and traced the tip of her tongue along the seam of his mouth, “You taste of the ocean, Ezra.” 

He looked at her lips, slightly parted now, and a whisper away from his own. A healthy instinct for self-preservation had always served Ezra well. But he’d learned there were moments in every man’s life when bravery is called for, and, recognising this to be one of them, he slid his tongue into her mouth and kissed her. 

She kissed him back and stroked the planes of his chest. Ezra reached around, cupped the flesh of her behind in his large hands, and stood up, lifting her with him. Adjusting his grip so he was holding her with one arm, he swept his other arm across the table, sending metal salvers clattering to the floor. Then he carefully laid her into the space he’d made, and leant over her. He was fully hard now and her legs were still wrapped tightly around his waist. He experimentally pressed his erection between her thighs, looking into her eyes to gauge her reaction. 

Circe reached up and drew her thumb across his salt-flecked lips, “Such a pretty mouth,” she whispered. 

“Mm, hmm,” he nodded, and the corner of his mouth ticked up into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

She relaxed her legs and loosened her grip around his waist, allowing him to draw away and push up the skirts of her robes until the fabric was gathered around her waist. Then he leaned forward, but just as his lips were about to reach the thatch of hair between her legs, she spoke, “Wait.” 

He paused and looked up at her. “Fill a cup from that jug over there and bring it to me,” she said, nodding towards a golden jug at the end of the table. Ezra removed himself from between her legs and did as she instructed. When he looked into the jug his heart began to pound, hard, in his chest. Its contents were that same liquid he’d seen in the bowl atop the plinth. In that moment Ezra felt his nerve weaken. He longed to be at home and away from this place. He thought of the widow, and the ache of what he might be about to sacrifice almost made him drop the jug and run to the sea. But then he forced the image of Medusa into his mind’s eye. He pictured her pain and imagined her further suffering, with his copper as the instrument of torture. Bolstered by this, he returned to Circe and passed her the cup.

Instead of lifting it to her mouth she held the cup above the lips of her sex and poured the liquid there. When the cup was empty she let it fall to the ground. Ezra stepped forward, positioned his face between her legs and licked the length of her. She tasted of lilacs and herbs with another note he couldn’t place; something vegetative and dark. The viscous liquid combined with her own slick to create a silky surface that seemed to move beneath his tongue, just as the liquid had writhed in its golden bowl. 

He focused on her clit - flicking the tip of his tongue over it then kissing it reverently. Circe tipped her head back and sighed and he traced his tongue down to her entrance and licked into her, tasting more of her own juices there. Then he returned to her clit and stiffened his tongue to give her a firm and steady pressure. She let out a joyful noise, spurring Ezra to increase the speed and intensity of his licks. He ran his palms over her waist and torso, feeling her belly rise and fall as she began to pant with pleasure. Then, looking up at her face, Ezra slowly pushed two of his fingers into her and curled them upwards. She cried out and bucked her hips hard into his face and he began to move his fingers and tongue in a fast and uncompromising rhythm, working relentlessly until finally she came, her walls pulsing hard around his fingers and her clit vibrating beneath his tongue. 

She propped herself up on her elbows and reached down to gently push his head away. When Ezra straightened up he felt dizzy and lightheaded. He noticed a prickling sensation in his arms and, rubbing the skin, he was horrified to feel sharp little bumps appearing there. Spikes began to break his skin and emerge from the bumps and then the same thing happened on his chest, his neck, his legs, and he staggered backwards in panic. He touched his face - more spikes. He lost sensation in his nose and reached up to touch it - it felt shiny and brittle beneath his fingers. The tip of it was curling down into a sharp point. His teeth seemed to be withdrawing into his jaw.

Then everything around him was growing. The ceiling was suddenly higher, the table taller. He looked down to see the ground getting closer and his clothes falling away from his body and landing in a heap at his feet. Except he no longer had feet. Instead he now possessed long talons at the ends of thin reptilian legs. 

In his terror he looked up at Circe and asked her what was happening, but somewhere between his brain and his throat, his words got lost and all that came out of his mouth was a piercing shriek. His eyes felt enormous and out of proportion with the rest of his face. Circe looked different. The lines of her were sharper than before and the colours of her were impossibly vivid and new. Her robe shimmered with colours he’d never known existed. Her eyes flashed with ultraviolet flecks. 

Then he heard a soft rustling as feathers began to unfurl from the bony spikes all over his body. He stretched out his arms. They felt weightless and more than twice the length they were before. His arms were now wings. Ezra was a hawk.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [mourningbirds1](http://mourningbirds1.tumblr.com) on tumblr  
> 


End file.
